


Secret State of Mind

by lavenderlightning



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-09 16:29:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11672856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlightning/pseuds/lavenderlightning
Summary: Stiles was supposed to just be giving background information on a suspect his unit was tracking in New York. That is, until it is decided that he knows the suspect well enough to go into the field and try to take them down himself. In the process of trying to take Hale down, things go wrong and Stiles' secrets start spilling.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this written for over a year, but it's taken me this long to muster the courage to finally post it.

“So, why exactly is Stilinski here?” One of the men says. He settles into a spot with his back against the wall and folded arms, a quizzical look on his face.

Stiles spins around in his chair, looking up from the laptop he was working at and glances between the captain and one of his teammates. “I’m just as qualified as you are,” he states simply, tapping his fingers on his knee.

Another man looks at the captain. “Reynolds, why is he here? He is only in his position because he’s an overly energetic idiot who never stops talking,” the man says.

Captain Reynolds shifts, clapping his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Stilinski here is more knowledgable in this field that half of you are after three years of training,” Reynolds responds.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “May I add that I know our suspect inside out, upside down, and backwards. Oh, and maybe because I’m highly qualified.”

“Does finishing training in less than 6 months count as highly qualified now?” Someone else asks.

Stiles snorts. “Look at my credentials and judge for yourself whether or not I’m qualified,” he mutters, turning back to his computer.

“Wait, how does he know Hale so well?”

Stiles clears his throat, suddenly very unhappy to be in their temporary headquarters and talking to these over-confident FBI agents. “Seven years of my life had an undercurrent of him. I know what hand he picks up his coffee with, and that he only drinks it black. I know that he buttons his shirt from the third to last button on up every time, and that his socks have to be in his left drawer, no matter what. I know that he can’t function if he puts his left sock on first. I know that he hates guns. I even know which foot he leads with,” Stiles says, not even looking up from where his fingers run over his keyboard.

“If Stilinski knows him so well, why don’t we just send him in to do the job instead of having him brief us and analyze the man from here?” One of Stiles’ partners, Ty, asks.

“Good point, Ty. Stilinski, how do you feel about that?” Captain Reynolds asks, causing the boy to look up from his laptop and glance at the man.

“Wait, hold on,” Stiles’ other partner, Hayes, says, “If you know him so well, wouldn’t that mean he knows you just as well? I’m not letting you go in and deal with a hostile werewolf who knows how you work.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I know him well enough to know that he isn’t the kind of person to change the way he works. At least, very easily. He’s stuck in his ways, and he, most likely, doesn’t think I’m going to change. He’d expect me to still me an awkward teenager who can barely control my limbs and uses a wooden baseball bat as my weapon of choice. He wouldn’t expect me to know how to fight, or any of what I am now.”

“So, Stilinski, you up for this?” Reynolds asks.

~~

“We have to ask you to come with us,” Hayes says, resting his hand on where his gun is fastened. He’s met with a growl. He smirks, saying, “A little birdie told me that this may be some incentive- Ty! Come out here.”

They both watch as Ty walks out, with Stiles’ being pushed ahead of him, his hand gripping Stiles’ neck tightly, gripping the edge of a nerve cluster. Stiles stumbles as Ty jerks him.

“Listen to them,” Stiles says, pleading, “just let them take you. Please.”

That is only met with another growl, and the addition of claws and fangs. Ty presses on the nerve cluster in Stiles’ neck, sending Stiles to his knees and onto the cement with a loud shout of pain. It doesn’t make the suspect any more likely to go with the agents, just more agitated and angry.

“Ty, let got, its not working,” Stiles says calmly, standing back up, “You are just making it worse. Hayes, put your gun down.” Stiles’ voice is commanding as Ty lets him step forward and roll his shoulder.

“You- you know them?”

Stiles frowns. “Peter, listen,” he says, stepping forward. That is when he sees him behind Peter. Peter lunges at Stiles, and Stiles knows Peter well enough to read his movements before they’ve even happened. Stiles catches the man’s fist as soon as he’s thrown it. Hand to hand combat ensues for a few more moments. Peter is shocked at how well the boy moves, blocks each of his hits, and the way he throws.

“What is going on?” The voice belonging to the man that stood behind Peter asks. In the blur of the fighting, a few gunshots go off, and Stiles simultaneously catches Peter’s arm to pin it behind his back, and sweeps his feet out from underneath him to send him to the ground.

“Ty,” Stiles says, nodding for him to cuff Peter. He looks up to see the other man sitting on the cement with blood seeping out of his shoulder and agony written on his face. Ty barely has his cuff around Peter’s wrist when Stiles is rushing toward the man.

“Oh god,” Stiles mutters, pressing on the man’s shoulder to stop the bleeding. “Hayes, this is bad,” he calls out.

“No, I’m fine,” the man says, starting to stand but loosing his balance on the way and leaning into Stiles.

“No, this is really bad. Come on, we’ll fix you up,” Stiles says, “Hayes, he needs to come with us.”

~~

Stiles absentmindedly runs his fingers through the hair of the man he’s missed, his head resting on Stiles’ shoulder as he sleeps. Stiles barely remembers his two parters in the car with him, or that Peter is being driven away in the opposite direction in handcuffs. All that Stiles can think about is the man beside him, the bullet in his shoulder, and how much he has missed running his fingers through his hair. He hasn’t done so in months, the last time being when the man fell asleep on his shoulder out of the blue. Before that, he had been running his fingers through the man’s little sister’s hair. He hadn’t run his fingers through anyone’s hair in a long time.

Hayes stares at Stiles in confusion, watching the boy stroke the sleeping man’s hair and stare out the window at the buildings passing by. Werewolves may be a welcomed part of society, and treated as equals, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t people who aren’t afraid of them. Some people think that werwolves are wonderful friends and co-workers, but should never be anything more. It’s pretty unheard of for humans to have romantic relationships with wolves, or any such thing.

~~

Derek awakes, finding himself with a needle deep in his arm, and his hands and feet restrained. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve been able to break out with minimal effort. But, he currently has no motivation to even try.

“Where is Stiles?” he asks, his voice laden with sleep. The two men in black beside his bed look at him in confusion.

“Who?" One asks. Derek recognizes him as the man who had Stiles by his neck.

“The scrawny kid you had by the neck?” Derek asks, barely reigning in his frustration after noticing the word ‘FBI’ scrawled into the man’s shirt sleeve. It takes all he has to not seethe or call the man an idiot.

“You mean Stilinski?” The other man, who Derek remembers has been the one to shoot him and barely miss his uncle, asks while sitting up.

“Yes, Stilinski, where is he?” Derek asks, suddenly very concerned that Stiles was just a hallucination from the pain of being shot.

“Stilinski, Hale is asking for you,” the first man calls.

Stiles slips into the room from outside the door. “Yes, he’s fine. Yes. Goodbye, Laura,” Stiles says, hanging up and pushing his phone into his pocket. Derek doesn’t understand how he managed to miss Stiles’ heartbeat outside of the door, or the sound of his voice. “Hey, Derek,” Stiles says softly, smoothing down the man’s hair for a moment before remembering his two partners beside him.

“How long have I been asleep? Where am I? What am I doing here? What is going on?” Derek asks, rapid fire, looking up at Stiles with a frantic hint to his green eyes. He stares into Stiles’ whiskey coloured eyes, which alone calm him, as he waits for an answer.

“About an hour and a half. Long enough to get you here, to the hospital. Yeah, I know, a hospital, a place you’ve never been. And long enough for them to take the wolfsbane bullet from your arm and stick the IV in without you ripping it out. Oh, and long enough for me to call Laura. She’s going to beat you to a pulp for this,” Stiles explains, his hands deep in his pockets.

Derek rolls his eyes. “She can bite me,” he mutters, staring up at Stiles. “You didn’t answer my last two questions, Stiles.”

“Since when are you called Stiles?” Ty interrupts, raising an eyebrow.

“Um, since I was three,” he responds, forgetting how little his partners know about him, and turns back to Derek, his voice going into a soft tone they’ve never heard but Derek is accustomed to, “You got shot, pretty badly. Hayes feels bad, of course. We had to bring you here to let you heal. What the hell were you doing with Peter?”

“I’m not allowed to interact with my uncle?” Derek asks, and after a short pause adds, “When did you stop going by Stiles? And when the hell did you get strong enough to single handedly take down Peter? He used to kick your ass.”

Stiles snorts, but clears his throat when he notices Ty shifting in his seat. “I didn’t,” he says, folding his arms against his chest, “and not when he’s killing innocent people.”

“How well do you two know each other?” Ty asks, looking incredulously at Stiles. His partners don’t know much about him, and he seems to have forgotten that. They don’t know about his history. They don’t know that he grew up as one of the only humans in a pack of werewolves, which is why he was already stronger than most of his teammates before even starting training. You’ve got to be pretty strong to be able to hold your own in a wolf pack. They don’t know about Stiles’ father being a sheriff. They don’t know how old he is, only that he young and witty. They don’t know about his personal life. They don’t know he’s gay. Hell, they don’t even know his first name. They know him as ‘Stilinski’. They do know he has a first name, and that it is far too long and complicated to be on any of his files. They know it’s just signified by a single letter on all of his information.

Stiles snorts, forgetting about all of that for a moment. “How well do I know him?” He asks, amused. His face falls when he sees the confusion on his partners’ faces.

“Not to be rude or anything,” Derek starts, glancing between the two and Stiles, “but who the hell are they?”

Stiles sinks onto the edge of Derek’s hospital bed, crossing his ankles and pushing his hands back into his pockets. “Oh right. Derek, these are my partners, Ty and Hayes. Ty, Hayes, Derek.”

“But seriously, you two know each other?” Hayes asks, motioning between the two. “I didn’t think a rookie FBI agent would know a big time business man slash werewolf like Derek Hale.”

Stiles shrugs, “how do you think I knew his uncle so well?”

“Wait, so do you know him well enough to know what foot he leads with and his weird ticks?” Hayes asks again.

“He leads with his right, doesn’t have a dominant coffee hand, buttons his shirt from around his sternum and on, most of the time, and he refuses to shave his beard. He just trims it,” Stiles says mindlessly, not realizing what he is saying.

“I didn’t realize you noticed my leading foot, or that I don’t have a specific hand to pick my coffee up with. Speaking of beards, I see you’ve acquired one in the past 6 months,” Derek says, reflexively trying to move his hand to stroke Stiles’ cheek but is stopped by the restraints, “are these really necessary?”

“Its protocol for a wolf like you?” Hayes responds without a tick of hesitation.

“A werwolf like me?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow in a way that makes Hayes’ heart beat a little faster, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“I tried to tell them that you didn’t need them, but they didn’t want you to rip out the IV,” Stiles says.

Hayes clears his throat, and when he doesn’t respond Derek turns to Stiles. “What the hell did he mean?” Derek asks, his usual slightly aggressive tone returning to his voice.

“Der, calm down. I don’t think he meant it,” Stiles says, patting Derek’s leg.

“Then why did his heart start racing?” Derek asks, starring pointedly at Hayes, who’s heartbeat upticks again. He swallows thickly, staring at the cold gaze Derek is sending to him. “Hmm?”


	2. Chapter 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' partners, Ty and Hayes, think that the only shocking thing about Stiles is that he knows the Hales, and apparently knows Derek pretty well. They are about to find out much more about their temporary-consult-turned-permanent-partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This starts off literally right where the last chapter left off. I left off the first chapter with Derek asking a question, and this chapter starts with the answer and goes from there:

“Derek,” Stiles says softly, before turning to Hayes, “I swear to god if you are trying to say something-“

“What? Am I not allowed to have opinions about your friend’s kind?” Hayes asks, folding his arms across his chest and looking firmly at Stiles. The line itself makes Stiles’ blood thicken and his heart pound. Derek can hear the anger in Stiles’ heartbeat, and the scent is strong enough to make Derek consider breaking the restraints to combat it.

“Stiles,” Derek says in a warning tone.

“Werewolves are classified as monsters for a reason,” Hayes says calmly, his voice even.

“Not all monsters do monstrous things,” Stiles responds, barely keeping his cool.

“Oh, so you are telling me that your friend is just a soft little kitten while is Uncle, whom he was just with, is going around murdering people? What makes you so sure he isn’t some psychotic mass murder who feeds on children in the middle of the night?”

“Watch how the fuck you speak about my husband, got it?!” Stiles spits, and Derek had used some tricky maneuvering to free himself during the exchange, so he wraps his arms tightly around Stiles before he can lunge at the man.

“Don’t you dare make me drag you out of here,” Derek growls in his ear, holding him firmly against his chest, “if I can control myself enough to not lunge at him, you better fucking do the same.”

Stiles struggles against Derek’s arms for a moment, before calming and leaning into his chest, deflating. “I don’t know how the hell you do it,” Stiles mutters.

“Years and years of practice. Living with your annoying ass for three years helps a little,” Derek says, stroking Stiles hair to keep him calm.

“Husband? You are married to him?!” Hayes asks, shooting out of his chair. Derek has to grip Stiles tightly to both restrain the boy, and himself. Hayes looks like Stiles just said he was married to the literal devil and is residing in the depths of burning hell.

“Hayes, what the hell? Sit your happy ass down before I take you down to Reynolds myself and report your disrespect,” Ty says firmly, pointing at the chair. Captain Reynolds has low tolerance for disrespect, especially for anti-werewolf prejudice. If Ty told the captain about his partner’s behavior, the man would be kicked out of the unit immediately.

Hayes follows the order, slumping into his chair and glaring at Stiles and Derek.

“Imagine if King heard you say any of that,” Stiles mumbles, instinctively gripping Derek’s bicep from it’s place across his chest.

“Who is King?” Derek asks, still stroking Stiles hair soothingly. He listens to Stiles’ heartbeat progressively falling back to it’s usual rate and noticing his scent evening back out. He hasn’t seen the boy in over six months, so there is no way he’s letting go anytime soon.

“Our unit’s resident werewolf,” Ty says simply.

“You do realize the nurses and doctors are going to be pissed about you getting out, right?” Stiles asks, craning his neck to look up at the man.

Derek shrugs, glancing down at the restraints beside him. “I didn’t break them, so they should be thankful I left their inane restraints intact,” he says, falling into his scholarly tone for a moment.

Stiles snorts. “Yeah, because they won’t be angry that you escaped your restraints, strained the IV, and left your bed,” he says sarcastically.

“I missed your sass-filled sarcasm so much,” Derek says, pressing his nose into Stiles shoulder long enough to inhale the boy’s scent and show affection.

“Just as much as I missed you trying to find humanlike ways to take in my scent,” he chuckles, shifting enough to hit Derek’s bad shoulder and earn a pained grunt, “jesus fuck, are you healing?”

Derek takes a deep breath before muttering, “I don’t think so.”

“Why the aren’t you? You are usually all patched up by now,” Stiles says, pulling out of Derek’s arm and whirling around to look at the man. He sees the pain in his mossy eyes, and feels his heart swell. Derek shrugs with his good shoulder, running the pad of his finger over the cold needle shoved in his arm.

“Can I please just rip this fucking thing out? I’m pretty sure it’s making all of this worse,” Derek says, curling a few fingers around the wire in wait of Stiles’ response.

“Don’t touch it,” Stiles says, swatting Derek’s hand away. He shitfs close to the saline bag, and such, scanning over it all. “Why the fu- shit, Derek take it out,” Stiles says, looking back at Derek, who tugs the needle out as soon as Stiles says to.

“What the hell?” Hayes asks, feeling queasy at the sight and seeing Derek’s blood drip down his arm while he looks completely unfazed.

“Stiles, I know that face. What’s going on?” Derek asks.

“Are you healing now?” he responds, scanning his eyes back over the list on the IV pole.

Derek snorts, “look at my arm and answer that yourself.”

“You know better than that,” Stiles mutters, “You know I’ll pass out if I see you actively bleeding. Are you still bleeding?”

“Yes, you idiot. Why else would I want my little genius to inspect my fucking arm?” Derek asks, earning a snort from Stiles, who missed the banter. Stiles spins around after a moment of prep, running his eyes over Derek’s bloody forearm.

“Why the hell aren’t you healing?” Stiles asks, watching more red grossness trickle down Derek’s arm.

“No fucking clue, Dr. Stilinski, hence why I asked you to take a look,” Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles doesn’t need to see the man’s face to know that he is doing so.

“Don’t look at me in that tone,” Stiles says, eyes still concentrated on Derek’s forearm, “I swear to god if you roll your eyes again, I won’t hesitate to call Laura.”

Derek snorts, not scared of his older sister or her wrath. His husband’s threat is nearly useless. “So afraid of my own Beta,” Derek says in amusement.

“Fine, I’ll call Scott and he’ll kick your ass,” Stiles shrugs, starting to clean Derek’s arm.

“Your brother isn’t flying to New York to fight me,” Derek rolls his eyes.

“Do you want me to trigger the healing process?” Stiles asks, rolling his eyes.

“Sure,” Derek responds, extending his arm to the boy. Hayes and Ty watch in disbelief as Stiles places both hand’s on Derek’s arm and twists. They can hear an audible snap of Derek’s radius, and jump. Stiles watches Derek’s forearm heal.

“Better?” Stiles asks, watching Derek look in amusement at the two FBI agents across from him.

“They must not be very accustomed to wolves,” Derek muses, rolling his shoulder, “yeah, I can feel my shoulder healing.”

“I forget how different life is when you don’t grow up in a pack,” Stiles responds, walking over to Derek’s monitors and turning them off, which earns odd looks from his partners, well even odder than the pack comment had. Stiles tosses a shirt at Derek, and watches the man pull it on instead of the hospital provided one. They luckily let the man keep his jeans. “Put your shoes on, we need to leave,” Stiles says, tossing his tennis shoes over.

Derek slips them on, and follows the boy to the door. His partners stand as well, walking a step behind. Stiles looks up and down the hallway before proceeding, which doesn’t surprise Derek since they used to do the same thing together all the time. Rafael, Scott’s father, had been Stiles’ in into the FBI, but he had enough experience dealing with potential threats and enemies back in California with his pack that most of the required skills to be an agent were reflexes for him at that point.

~~

Ty prepares to make up an explanation for why Derek is with them as the approach Captain Reynolds, and is thrown for a loop when he smiles and steps forward to shake Derek’s hand. “Derek, nice to see you again,” He says, earning an upturn of Derek’s lips in the man’s version of a smile when around other people.

“Nice to see you, as well, sir,” Derek says, firmly shaking the man’s hand.

“Your husband has been doing some impressive work,” Reynolds says as they continue to walk, “I see you’ve met his partners.”

Derek offers more of a smile, which looks odd on him to Ty and Hayes, compared to undertone of brood the man’s expression wears most of the time. “Why am I not surprised? I was slightly shocked at Hayes’ lack of respect towards my kind, but Ty seems wonderful.”

Reynolds shoots a glare at Hayes, “Hayes did what?”

Derek shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure the three of us put him in his place when I had to escape my own restraints to keep Stiles from strangling him. But, you may want to consider running your unit through a werewolf etiquette meeting or something, because it is appalling how little they know about us,” Derek says, absentmindedly resting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“So, tell me about this hospital debacle, Derek,” Reynolds says, as they walk down the dark sidewalk.

“Wait, hold on, why does Derek’s name sound so familiar?” Ty asks, causing the group to pause.

“Besides the fact that he is a businessman?” Hayes asks.

“You know I pay zero attention to business, so why would I know his name?” Ty asks.

Derek smirks. “That isn’t even my real job,” he mutters, skirting the topic of his families’ famous accident which would be the real reason the name Derek Hale rings bells in Ty’s head.

Ty and Hayes both raise very suspicious eyebrows at Derek, who, as swiftly as having practiced millions of times, flashes his own FBI badge at the pair and pushes it back into his pocket.

“What the hell?” Ty asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m an undercover agent, unlike the three of you. Well, okay unlike you two, since half of Stiles’ job is to be undercover,” Derek says.

“Why do you keep calling him Stiles?” Hayes asks, raising an eyebrow at Derek.

Derek turns to Stiles. “It really shocks me how little your partners actually know about you. You trust them with your life, but don’t trust them with that? I bet they don’t know your first name either, or how old you really are,” Derek says, shaking his head.

“Yes, because we all have partners like Willow,” Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Wait, how old are you?” Ty asks, intrigued by the statement on Derek’s part.

“Might as well just show you this to answer all of your questions at once,” Stiles says, shrugging as he takes out his wallet and tosses his ‘State of California’ drivers license at his partners. He has a California license because he and Derek still have a house together back there. Derek’s unit is based in California, and only comes to the FBI headquarters when they are truly needed. Stiles’ unit moves so often, and his current case had been so drawn out that he hadn’t been home in a while.

Ty’s eyes run over the ID in his hand. “So, your first name is either too long or too foreign to even be written on your ID. You have his last name in parenthesis beside you own, which makes no sense to me. And, wait- oh fuck- how the hell are you only 20? Wait, shit, you turned twenty three months ago,” Ty reads aloud, looking at Stiles agape.

“Even Derek can’t say my first name, hence the nickname. And the last name thing is really complicated, due to our jobs. It took forever to figure out how to legally make it all work. Pro tip, never marry someone in a covert FBI position, because it makes paperwork living hell. Yeah, I’m twenty. Actually, five months ago, you idiot,” Stiles rattles off, turning to Derek who is looking at his phone intently.

“So, we’ve been letting the kid illegally drink for a year,” Hayes mutters to Ty, “that’s just great. And how the hell does someone his age get married? Like what the hell? Wait, he lives in California?”

While the pair had been talking about Stiles’ ID, he stepped away to talk to Derek. They quiet enough to hear Stiles talking to him.

“I know, Derek, I know,” Stiles says, running a hand through his hair.

“Stiles,” Derek starts softly, but is cut off by Stiles.

“Derek, I’m well aware that I haven’t seen Amia in 3 months. I’m aware that I hadn’t seen you in 6, and I’m aware that we haven’t been in the same room for more then an hour and a half in a year. I know, you don’t need to remind me. I was supposed to be going straight home after Peter got arrested, but I don’t know now,” Stiles says, sounding frustrated, “You know, Rafael was supposed to put me in a stupid desk position or something and keep me close to home. But, I guess the man has such a grudge against me that he thought it’d be genius to make me a consult for a fucking special unit that travels.”

“Stilinski, is there an issue?” Reynolds asks, also overhearing Stiles’ conversation even though to boy was using a pretty low voice.

“No, sir, not at all,” Stiles responds, turning back and catching his ID as Ty tosses it back with a quizzical look on his face. Reynold’s phone rings, so he steps away to answer.

“Who is Ameah?” Hayes asks, stepping closer to Stiles so that he is standing beside Ty again.

“It’s a-my-uh,” Derek mumbles, training his eyes on the cement.

“No one,” Stiles responds, beginning to walk away.

Reynolds steps back into the group, clearing his throat. “I just got a call from the Captain of Derek’s unit. He heard about what happened to Derek at the hospital, and think’s it’s linked to a case they’ve been working on. He wants us to fly out to him in California to corroborate,” Reynolds explains, and before Stiles’ knows it, they are on a plane to California.

Derek looks over at Stiles once on the plane and notices that he had plucked the silver chain out from his shirt and is playing with the silver band. “You still do that?” Derek asks randomly, causing the boy to look up.

“He always has. I never realized that it was his wedding ring,” Ty says, as Stiles blinks at them and tucks it back into his shirt, “Why don’t you wear it?”

“I’m one of the most accident prone people you’ll meet. I’d loose it within a day, if it was on my hand. Besides, I’m not allowed to wear it there, anyways. So, I killed two birds with one stone,” Stiles says, looking back out the window.

~~

Stiles plops down on the hotel bed as soon as he has pulled his suitcase into the room, and kicks off his shoes in the process. Hayes and Ty pass him, glancing at him in slight concern. Ty pushes the boy’s suitcase out of the middle of the walkway, and sees how he is exhaustedly sprawled out on the mattress.

“Tired?” Hayes asks in a whisper, nodding over to Stiles.

Ty shrugs, “most likely.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles, even after Ty and Hayes have somewhat come to terms with Derek being married to him, is still acting odd. Ty and Hayes can't figure out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up medical stuff for this idea and a new substance. If it's real, pretend it isn't because I couldn't find anything else to make this idea work. Bare with me, please. I appreciate it. (And you) 
> 
> This is also really short, but the next chapter will be up soon.

“Stiles, nice to see you,” Captain Price greets, earning a nod from the boy. “So, Derek, tell me more about this whole hospital event,” the captain of Derek's unit says, leaning on the table behind him and crossing his ankles.

“Stiles knows the details,” Derek says, causing the boy to look back up from staring at the patterns in the wood of the table.

“Right,” Stiles says, clearing his throat, “I knew something was fishy when they put restraints on an unconscious werewolf and tried to give him a sedative, both of which are against protocol. But, I know something was really wrong when Derek wasn’t healing.”

“He has one of the fastest healing rates I’ve ever seen,” Price states, a little shocked.

“I know, usually by then he’d be way past healed. But I then realized that his IV pole had more than the werewolf standard, so I inspected it. First of all, it has a saline bag mixed with low strength morphine, which in itself is concerning enough since you never give werewolves morphine. That is when I realized they were giving him ZXY3-“

“What is that?” Ty asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll get to that in a second. They also had him on a drip of Phoradendron leucarpum. Now, ZXY3, I’ll spare you from it’s scientific name, is a drug that is toxic to werewolves. It’s only ever used for one thing, and would never be given to someone like Derek, and the stuff in the drip- that is a weak strain of mistletoe. Mistletoe is poisonous to wolves. The only time I’ve ever heard of it being used was in special cases of rejection-“

“Rejection?” Ty asks, looking confused.

“Bite rejection. You see, the only time ZXY3 is used, is to treat severe bite rejection, and sometimes doctors get desperate and try adding weak strains of mistletoe. Either way, in large doses, the mix would be lethal to Derek, hence why I had him rip out the IV right away. I don’t know whether the nurses are idiotic, trying to pursue a personal vendetta against wolves, trying to help since they thought Derek was a suspect because of the way my two wonderful FBI partners treated him, or they were trying to target him. Either way, there is something going on. Oh, and did I mention that we literally had to sneak out of a hospital?” Stiles finishes, looking back at the wooden table. Derek absentmindedly rests a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, to calm him. He can sense how anxious the boy is.

“Well, either way it requires some digging. Thank you, Stiles,” Price says, earning another nod from Stiles. Price raises an eyebrow at Derek.

The phone rings, and Derek runs a finger up and down Stiles’ neck while Price talks on the phone outside of earshot.

He returns and pushes his hands into his pockets. “Well, since it’ll be a while while my men brief themselves on all of this, and I’m short staffed, I have a favor to ask. We’ve been surveying a local park for a while, due to a case, and apparently something turned up. It sounds like something right up your alley, since you emphasize the term special in your unit.”

Stiles exits the room with one of the men from Derek's unit to go over a file, since Stiles is the most qualified one in the room to look over.

Price turns to Derek, folding his arms over his chest. "Is he okay?" Price asks, looking concerned, "He seems a little too quiet and mellow. Almost apathetic."

Derek sighs, running a hand through his hair and thinking about Stiles. He glances at Ty and Hayes who seem to be having a conversation, but Derek can't tell that both of them and Reynolds are listening in on his conversation. "He's struggling with the idea of being home, but not being able to go home," Derek keeps his response simple and vague, which makes Ty want to strangle the details out of him. But, Ty retrains himself and pretends to be looking over a page in the file Price had given them to look over.

Price nods, seemingly understanding the statement better than the others. "I understand that. He hasn't been home in how long? Six months?" Price asks, knowing far too well about what goes on in their lives, since he and Derek are pretty darn close. Oh, and because Derek actually shares with his Captain and partner, unlike some lanky brown haired boys with more sass and sarcasm than most can handle.

"A little over," Derek responds, nodding a little and pushing up his shirt sleeve.

"A lot can happen in six months," Price muses. He doesn't realize that the other men are listening, since to him they seem immersed in scanning over the file on the case they've agreed to help with.

Derek nods, glancing at the doorway to double check that the boy isn't returning yet. "That's the part he is struggling with. He's struggling with how much he has missed. Hell, he managed to grow facial hair since he's been gone."

Price blinks back at Derek, knowing that Stiles appreciates facial hair on Derek but can't stand his own. "I mustn't have been paying much attention to him, because I didn't notice. I thought he hated facial hair," Price muses again.

"I do," Stiles says as he returns, running his hands over his own in distaste, "Things have been a little chaotic in the past few months, with the traveling and the case and such. I've barely had room to breath, let alone shave."

"And I talked him into letting it accumulate for his undercover work," Reynolds chips in, looking smug.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You just wanted an excuse because you like it," Stiles responds, sinking down into a chair and fiddling with his phone. From where he stands, Derek can make out Scott's name on Stiles' phone screen, and a few little pictures that are too far out of his line of sight to be more than blur.

"But aren't you glad you kept it? Peter looked pretty darn taken aback by your scruffiness," Reynolds responds.

"Peter, as in," Price starts, motioning toward Derek.

"Indeed. We arrested him, and that is when Derek got shot,” Stiles responds.

“You okay, kid?” Price asks, raising an eyebrow. Stiles looks up from where he fiddles with his fingers.

“Huh? Oh, I’m fine. Why?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. Reynolds watches him carefully, having noticed since he saw the boy this morning that he’d been slightly off.

 

~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Stiles' Unit and Derek's Unit have turned into one super-unit for the time being, they are working on a case in a park that is far too familiar to Stiles and Derek and that brings Stiles to act odd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super short because it's build up, but the next chapter is about to be huge.

Derek glances at Stiles in worry, noticing that the boy managed to shave before they left his building. He sees the pokerface the kid wears, and can tell that the location for their undercover work is getting under Stiles’ skin. They both know the park like the back of their hands, which is both a great advantage and a terrible thing.

“I have the suspect in sight,” Derek says into his mouthpiece, and moves past the swings. Derek moves in on the man, and reaches for his gun. “FBI, put your hands up,” Derek says, in the commanding voice that makes Stiles remember why he wanted to be a part of the FBI in the first place. The man lifts his hands, and the rest goes smoothly. Derek doesn’t need help handcuffing the man, or dragging him away.

Derek finds Stiles sitting in a swing, kicking the dirt softly as he pushes himself with his toe so that he’s gently moving back and forth a few inches. “I get how hard this is for you,” Derek says softly, looking at his own feet in the sand.

“Do you? Because you are still in California most of the time,” Stiles says, pressing his fingers into his other palm.

Derek sighs, “I may not get what it’s like to be away for so long, but I know what it’s like to be apart from you. I can only image how hard it is to be here, and not be able to go see her. I get it, I do. I know the feeling, you know I do.”

Stiles sighs, and swings silently for a moment. Ty and Hayes approach, and Hayes leans on the pole beside him as he clears his throat. “Hey, Stilinski, some more of the men from our units are across the street in the cafe talking about a development in the case,” he says, causing Stiles to look up. Hayes realizes just how young Stiles looks in the maroon baseball tee, dark jeans, and grey vans, with his face cleanly shaven and hair spiked up.

Stiles stands, pushing his hands into his pockets and stepping forward. Stiles never wears his usual casual clothes around his partners, since they usually have to dress up, wear what Stiles playfully dubbed ‘combat clothes’, or their undercover clothes. He feels awkward in the clothes he is most comfortable in, even though his partners and Derek are all in casual clothes aswell.

He follows them across the park and the street toward the cafe.

“No, that’s not how a firewall works, Hayes. You can’t just bypass- you aren’t even following anything I’m saying, are you?” Stiles asks as he walks through the door.

“Stilinski, are you lecturing him on tech again?” Reynolds asks with raised eyebrow.

Stiles shrugs, not realizing the eyes of the rest of the units on him, as he sits down and says. “He was asking stupid questions again,” Stiles states simply. He glances at Reynolds and notices all eyes on him. The four other men from his unit look at him in disbelief, and three from Derek’s look confused while Willow smiles warmly. Stiles grins back at her, nodding. “Willow,” he greets.

“Stilinski,” she nods, “finally home?”

Stiles snorts, “casual clothes doesn’t always mean off duty.”

“So you haven’t seen-“ she starts, but is cut off when Stiles speaks.

“Nope,” he shrugs, and looks up at Reynolds and Price, “so, what is it that you wanted to talk to us about?"


	5. Chapter 5.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost everyone has noticed Stiles' odd behavior, and it's now time for more secrets to spill. The real reason Stiles has been acting weird is about to rear it's not-so-ugly head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about to be much longer than the last chapter, so hang in there.

“So, the kid that looks like he’s 19 is your expert?” A man from Derek’s unit asks, looking Stiles over judgmentally. The man shifts his weight, so that he's leaning against the wall of the cafe and toeing the sidewalk.

“Clark, shut up,” Willow not-so-playfully swats the man’s shoulder.

“20, but nice try,” Stiles smirks, and turns to the pair of captains, “May I go on?”

Reynolds nods, and Stiles pushes up the sleeves of his flannel.

Stiles launches into a briefing, which Clark stares at with wide eyes. He is shocked at how the kid actually knows what he is talking about. He didn't expect such from the odd kid.

"Wait, so, he has a tendency to step before he punches?"

Stiles' mouth opens to respond to the comment, but he's cut off. The entire group is silences by the high pitched squealing and the shouting that follows. It's faint, but they can hear a voice calling, "Hey, get back here!"

The next thing anyone knows, the small body of a toddler is colliding with Stiles' leg. The adorable arms of the little girl wrap around Stiles' leg instantly. Stiles seems to forget himself and his surroundings, because his hand instinctively and reflexively goes to the girl's head, and his fingers gently stroke her hair.

“Amia, you can’t just run off like-“ Scott’s voice calls, and he skids to a stop in front of Stiles, looking up and saying, “oh, shiiiii- I’m sorry, I’ll just-“

Stiles shakes his head and clears his throat, “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He continues to stroke her hair, now that the squealing how died down and Scott kind of just stands there, staring at the little girl.

“Stiles,” Derek says quietly, “protocol.”

Stiles curses under his breath, and carefully pries the girl's arms from his leg. He gently pushes her away from him, and she looks up at him with big, glistening doe eyes and runs towards Scott with tears drawing streaks on her pale cheeks. Stiles' heart shatters then and there, falling out of his chest and smashing to millions of shards on the cement. He pulls the hostler, gun inside, from his hip where it was tucked away beneath his flannel, and hands it to Derek. Derek takes it without a word, and watches Stiles. He takes a few steps from the group that is watching him intently to try and navigate this situation. He slips into a crouch, putting his weight on the balls of his feet. “Hey, Amia, come’ere,” he coos. The toddler drops Scott’s hand, and turns around with tear filled eyes. She stares at Stiles for a moment.

She shuffles forward for a few steps, as though her broken little heart is too heavy for her tiny feet, but she realizes that Stiles is crouching in wait for her with his palms upturned. So, she sprints as fast as her tiny legs can carry her. It isn't very fast compared to an adult, but it's fast enough for her.

She smacks into Stiles’ chest with a soft ‘pft’ and reaches her tiny arms as far around Stiles as she can. Her slim fingers knot into Stiles shirt to ball in up in her fists. His arms delicately wrap around her small frame as she presses her face into his chest, and cries into his shirt. Her tiny sobs stun the others. She may be small, but her cries are big. She is practically screaming at this point.

He strokes her dark hair, just hugging her for a moment. He tucks an arm under her to support her weight, and brings himself to a stand while she clings to him. “Daddy,” she chokes out, pushing her little forehead into his chest even more, like she is trying to bury it deep within him.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. Shh,” Stiles says softly, cradling her head, “I’ve got you.”

She settles after he speaks, falling quiet. She doesn't tremble with sobs anymore. Instead, she pulls her forehead back a bit and looks up at him with a small smile and tear streaked face. Stiles uses his free hand to gently swipe away the remaining dampness from her teeny cheeks with the pad of his thumb. It apparently tickles a bit, because the pint-sized girl giggles.

Derek shifts forward, nudging the uncovered side of Stiles' ribcage and says, “Still breaking protocol.”

Amia looks up from where her thin fingers are playing with the chain she fished from Stiles’ shirt and sees Derek over Stiles' shoulder. She beams up and him and tilts her head a little as she exclaims, “Dada!”

“Hi, Amia.” Derek gives her a small smile. She gives him a toothy grin back, and Derek adds, “Stilinski,” in a warning tone.

“I have to go back to work, okay?” Stiles asks in a super soft tone that Ty and Hayes don't recognize. That earns a deep frown from Amia, who lets him set her back on the ground. He frowns to himself as he watches her mope back to Scott with her shoulders slumped and her head hanging. Stiles turns on his heel and takes his hostler back from Derek, putting it back in it's place.

“You carry a gun?” Willow asks, agape.

“You just watched a little girl sob into his chest and call him daddy, but the gun is the surprising part?” Ty asks, blinking at Willow in utter awe. Reynolds and Hayes give Stiles one of the most appalled looks the boy has ever seen, and he's seen a lot.

“I watch Ams as the time,” Willow supplies, as though it's obvious.

“You have a daughter?” Reynolds finally booms, stepping towards where Stiles and Derek are standing. Stiles flinches back, remembering this far too vividly, ducking behind Derek with a whimper.

“Whoa, what the fuck just happened?” Hayes asks, looking at Stiles. Stiles is down on the cement with his legs pulled to his chest and his face hidden in the denim covering his knees, like he's bracing for impact.

“Stilinski,” Reynolds bellows. Derek reflexively steps in front of Stiles, his eyes flaring and burning red.

“Calm the hell down, right now,” he growls, his shoulders tense as he holds himself protectively in front of where Stiles is curled up. Reynolds freezes in place and puts his hands up in surrender. Reynolds and Price understand the dynamic between Stiles and Derek. They also understand, to a certain extent, werewolf behavior. That means that they understand that Derek would only due such a thing with due cause.

“What the fuck?” Ty asks, raising an eyebrow as he crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn't understand more than half of what just happened, and it's written all over his face.

Derek turns around in time to watch Stiles pushing into a stand and shove his hand through his hair. “I’m just going to…” he murmurs, starting to walk away. Derek grips his arm, stopping him. He jerks to a halt, and looks at him expectantly.

“Talk to them,” Derek is gentle, but his voice is slightly commanding.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a daughter?” Reynolds asks, raising an eyebrow. Stiles' eyes flit to his crossed arms and scowl, which don't help the situation at all. He seems to notice Stiles' gaze, and softens.

“It’s not something I mention in casual conversation,” Stiles shrugs, looking anywhere but at his captain.

“If I would’ve known, I wouldn’t have kept you away for 6 months. Especially with a toddler,” Reynolds responds, sighing and looking like he's caught between two things. Stiles can't tell what.

Stiles sighs. “After the way Rafael reacted, it isn’t something I share freely,” he mumbles, shaking his head. His shoulders are tense. He is generally tense.

“Rafael, Rafael McCall?” Price asks, raising an eyebrow. “What did McCall do?”

“Um, besides treating his son like total shit, and throwing him down a flight of stairs when he was seven? Or abusing him? When he found out about Amia, he flipped out and beat the utter shit out of me,” Stiles explains, his voice drips with disdain. Stiles would argue that it's deserved distain, but others may not agree.

Price gapes at him, his jaw nearly unhinging itself. “McCall did that??”

“If only there were scars for what he did to my brother,” Stiles mutters, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest. He's started to stare at the cement sidewalk, since this topic makes him extremely uncomfortable.

“Agent McCall would never-“ Price starts with an elaborate hand motion, eye roll, and everything, only to be cut off by Stiles.

“So maybe he is the only reason I got into this unit, but he isn’t a saint by any means. Now if you don’t mind, I’d rather get this over with,” Stiles says firmly, barely withholding his anger and urge to start shaking or maybe punch something he shouldn't. He has to take a few deep breaths to collect himself again.

Price glances around the place, scanning and taking in the current situation. His eyes dart around the square, scanning buildings and people, analyzing the weather and such. “I think it’d be better if we held off on this plan. Head back to HQ and we’ll regroup,” he commands, and the units break off. Stiles mentally sighs in relief. He really didn't want to deal with that right then, and he certainly didn't want to work.

Once out of ear shot, with Willow, Ty, and Hayes trailing, Derek looks at Stiles. “Hey, are you okay?” He asks, keeping his voice low and gentle. His eyes are soft when they scan over him.

“I’m fine,” Stiles responds, “I really wish stupid rules like that didn’t exist and that I didn’t have to miss six months of my daughter’s life, but other than that, I’m just peachy.”

“Most people use that expression as a form of sarcasm,” Derek muses, glancing at Stiles in concern. Stiles is very apt for sarcasm, and uses it more frequently than most. So, Derek's observation makes a point.

“I’d rather not talk about this in public, especially around other agents,” Stiles says, pulling open the car door and hopping into the passenger seat. Willow, Ty, and Hayes slide into the back as Derek takes the wheel.

“So, is there anything else you’d like to tell us about?” Ty asks, leaning his elbows on the middle console, “So we aren’t randomly blindsided by another kid or something.”

“Shut up, or I’ll shove you out of this vehicle right now,” Stiles responds, in a manner Ty well is acquainted with.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, dude,” Ty says, leaning back and turning to Hayes.

“Wow, cool it, Stilinski,” Willow says, rolling her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Willow,” Stiles says, his voice calming a bit.

“You better be. Seeing Amia for five minutes shouldn’t send you off the rails,” Willow responds, frowning at him.

“Try seeing your daughter again for the first time in six months and having to make her leave,” Stiles responds evenly, pulling his laptop out and typing up a storm. Hayes can see his screen, and watches the boy scrolling through files and typing down notes, analyzing.

“Does he do this often?” Derek asks, glancing at the two guys in his rearview mirror. His eyebrows are slightly quirked, and he looks expectant.

“The files, or the snapping?” Hayes asks, raising his own eyebrow.

“Yes."

“He doesn’t always work on files, usually coding or something, but the laptop is a regular. I’m surprised he isn’t in the IT departmentrment, honestly. Yeah, he can get snippy, but it’s not surprising. We all can, it’s almost part of the job description,” Ty says with a small chuckle, watching Stiles tap his free fingers on his laptop. He therms them in beat to the music he must be listening to through his recently donned headphones.

“So, you know our Captain, and he knows yours and your partner, but we were left in the dark?” Hayes asks. Willow perks up to watch the events unfold, her lips pressed in a firm line.

“He’s picky about who he shares with, and he isn’t really allowed to talk about me much. My unit emphases the term ‘under cover’, and has strict rules. So does his father, and all of this is a lot more complicated than you think,” Derek says, “you act like it’s all so simple. But it’s not, and you don’t know the half of it.”

“It’s far from simple,” Willow mutters, tuning into Stiles’ thrumming.

“Can you at least tell us why you call him Stiles?” Ty asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You are all aware that I can still hear you, right?” Stiles asks, keeping his eyes trained on the screen in front of him and doesn’t cease his thrumming.

“I know,” Derek responds, squeezing the boy’s shoulder momentarily. Ty has to admit, he expected more PDA from the pair after finding out they were married.

“He calls me Stiles because it’s what I’ve been going by since I was little. My brother, we met when in a sand box when we were four. He wasn’t my brother yet, but we were inseparable. But anyways, it’s hard for a four-year old to pronounce Stilinski, and there was no way he was tackling my real name, so we went with Stiles. It stuck,” Stiles explains, still thrumming and thrumming.

“Why didn’t it carry over to the FBI?” Hayes asks, shifting in his seat to get a better view of Stiles’ face. He wants to have a conversation with the kid, not the back of his head.

Stiles clears his throat. “To put it simply, I don’t trust people. I didn’t trust either of you, but you don’t get to pick your partner. As a consult, I didn’t get to pick the pair of FBI agents I got stuck with. I grew to trust you with my life, but it never crossed my mind to tell you anything about it’s details. Especially when my life is a huge spiderweb of complicated, tangled crap that I have no idea how to sift through.”

“Since you are finally sharing, how does one get a job at the FBI at like 19?” Ty asks, remembering his own first few weeks as a rookie agent.

“I graduated high school a year early, since I jumped up to my brother’s grade in middle school. His father, if you didn’t already catch on, is Agent Rafael McCall, who has some major pull in the ranks. He nabbed me a job, since he knew I was interested in the law area, after talking up all of my odd talents. I guess your unit was just raising, and they needed someone with odd talents.

“I wasn’t really an official agent or anything, because I was barely 18, but they stuck me with you two. I was just technically a consult, so I could practically choose my own hours unless it was an emergency. That was really nice with a two year old back home, but last year when I became an agent, that kind of fell apart,” Stiles explains, pulling off his headphones and closing his laptop, pushing them back in his bag.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about her?” Hayes asks, suddenly very interested in his partner's life.

“I couldn’t, its more complicated than that,” Stiles responds, pushing his car door open as they park. He slings his bag over his shoulder, waiting for Derek to round the car before falling into step beside him and walking towards the building. He can see the rest of both of the units doing the same, and he still hates that he is in normal clothes. Derek’s unit is all under cover operations, so they only ever wear their casual clothes unless in costume for a case, and it throws Stiles off. He's so used to crisp and clean, not comfortable and casual.

“Okay, well how long have you been married?” Ty questions, his shoes crunching over the gravel.

“4 years,” Stiles answers simply. Ty does the math- Stiles must have been 16. How does a kid get married at 16? And have a toddler. Amia must be adopted, right? That is the only way it'd possibly make any sense. Ty turns the thoughts over in his mind, along with the question of the pair’s lack of PDA, as Willow holds the door open and they enter the building with the rest of the two units. For all both of the units know, Stiles is about 24. It would make sense for someone his age to have a toddler, in their minds. They may be government agents, but they can’t seem to figure out Stiles, or his relationship with Derek.

Stiles, as he usually does with his own unit, sets up his laptop at a desk and types away, as the captain prepares to speak. Sometimes he stays behind and doesn’t go in the field, and sometimes he does. He currently can’t get his mind off of Amia, and has to keep deleting lines of code and retype them. Many times.

“Try taking a break,” Derek says quietly, near his ear. He jumps, thwacking his own head into Derek’s and clenching his teeth.

“Shit,” he says between his teeth, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead as the pain radiates.

Derek looks up at Reynolds, who heard the impact and is trying to figure out what happened. “Could you go grab him some ice?” Derek asks, before realizing that the man has no idea how to get around the building, “Webb! Go grab me some ice,” Derek calls across the room, and the man looks up, glances at the way Stiles is holding his head, and runs from the room.

“Oh, god,” Stiles says, trying to open his eyes but reeling.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Stiles-“ Derek starts, resting both of his hands on Stiles’ shoulders instinctively and in an attempt to help stabilize him.

“What the hell happened to him?” Ty asks, approaching with Willow and Hayes on his heels.

“Jesus, fuck, ow,” Stiles mutters, pressing his other hand to his forehead now.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Stiles, fuck,” Derek says, and doesn’t even realize that there the black veins crawling up his hand and wrist as he instinctively syphons away Stiles’ pain. Willow smacks him.

“Derek, stop it,” She says in a low voice, and he sees the veins and pulls back his arms instantly. Stiles bites in pain again, and Webb hands Derek a bag of ice, and he carefully presses it to Stiles’ head.

“Christ, I swear your forehead is made of steal or something,” Stiles mutters, sitting up.

Reynolds approaches, looking over Stiles. “What the hell happened to him?”

“Derek is just a pro at scaring the shit out of me,” Stiles mutters.

“He slammed his head into my face when he jumped,” Derek responds.

 

~~~


	6. Chapter 6.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for Derek to finish a meeting, he accidentally shows Reynolds a side to himself that he's been good at keeping buried. He then runs to his hotel room to grab his stuff, and once he is finally allowed home, there is a surprise waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the best writing, so I apologize in advance. I thank you who have all stuck with me this far. I wrote most of this back in April, so coming back and editing it to put it up takes a lot of time and patience on my part. I appreciate you all endlessly, and hope you enjoy the story so far. I love feedback, so feel free to comment, even if only to say hello.

  “Stilinski, why are you still here?” Reynolds asks, approaching Stiles where he sits at a desk, fiddling with a pencil and daydreaming. He jumps when he hears/sees Reynolds coming his way.

  “Huh?” He asks, arching an eyebrow and tilting his head ever so slightly.

   “We finished for the day an hour ago. Why haven't you left yet? Go see your daughter, you should be spending time with her rather than just sitting here,” Reynolds shakes his head and folds his arms, causing Stiles to blink back at him.

   “Tell my ride that,” Stiles mutters while staring at the pencil he's fiddling with, nodding towards where Price and Derek are deep in discussion while pouring over a file together.

  “Ride?” Reynolds asks, his eyebrows pulling in confusion. Stiles can hear his all-consuming confusion in his voice, and sits up slightly.

   “You know, my husband? Who is going to take me home? Because my car is there? Because I live in California and just flew back from New York?” Stiles responds, looking at Reynolds like he asked the most idiotic question in the history of idiotic questions. Reynolds is used to that look, since Stiles gives to someone on a weekly basis. That someone is usually Johnson, who is extremely ignorant and always asks Stiles the most idiotic questions imaginable. He'd be in the running for a medal in the idiot olympics.

   “Sometimes I forget that you still live out here.” Reynolds shakes his head while he perches on the edge of another desk and crosses his ankles.

   “Yeah,” Stiles says, shrugging, “the commute is a joy.” His sarcasm doesn’t have to be thick for Reynolds to know it is being used. Reynolds is the one person from his unit that Stiles actually shares with. He still doesn't share _everything_ , but he shares more than he does with his actual partners. Half of the time, he wishes Reynolds was his partner.  As much as he loves Ty, and gets along well with Hayes, he feels like Reynolds would be a better fit for him. Too bad you can't choose your partner, at least not in their unit. 

   “I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me you had a daughter. I could’ve arranged for you to go home more often,” he says, shaking his head. Stiles sighs, running a hand through his spikes of hair. Reynolds isn’t used to seeing the boy dressed casually, and he has to admit that it’s hard to get used to.

   “It isn’t that simple,” Stiles sighs, frustration lacing his voice.

   “I understand, Stiles. Trust me, I do. I just feel bad that I kept you away for so long,” Reynolds responds, messing his hair up in a playful manner. Stiles rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, running his fingers through his hair to counter all the flattening that was inflicted upon it. His poor hair.   
  
    “You know, I could see if I could get you transferred out here,” Reynolds muses, stroking his chin and thrumming his fingers against it.

   “Captain, our unit-“ Stiles doesn't get very far before getting cut off.

   “If you really think the unit needs you, which it does, I can always speak with Price and discuss the possibility of sharing you. So that way you’d at least be here a little more often, but still part of our unit. Of course, your caseload make be tricky to balance, but you’ll be here,” Reynolds offers, and Stiles thinks about it for a moment. Pondering.  

   He rolls his eyes in thought, “That’d be nice.”

   Reynolds nods, and glances back at where Derek is talking to Price with his focus glued on papers spread over a table. “How much longer are they going to be?” He asks, motioning towards where they stand.

   Stiles shrugs, spinning in the desk chair on a whim. He may or may not have skipped on the second cup of coffee this morning, and without it his ADHD is kicking up some static. He can’t hold still, which he’s used to, but his unit is not. He’s been taking extra care to seem calm and still, and fight impulses. “No clue. Sometimes they take twenty minutes, and sometimes they take three hours.”  
  
   Reynolds watches him, observing this side of Stiles. It juxtaposes the other Stiles he knows. He can’t tell if the boy is being his usual self or not, and watches him spin with his head tilted back against the chair, fingers thrumming on the hand rest while his toes push him around in circle. Then again, what does he even know about "usual" for Stiles. He didn't even know the kid had a kid. “You’ve waited for them before?”   
    
  “I’ve been here numerous times,” Stiles responds, “I would wait for Derek to finish up with Price and then we’d go to dinner, or we’d go home and watch a movie with Amia.” The shrug Stiles does is like the straw that broke the camel's back. It makes it feel overwhelming to Reynolds and as though so much is happening at once, but Reynolds is shocked when Stiles starts humming and swaying his head along with the beat. What throws him through the loop is that the pattern is completely different from the pattern of his thrumming, and even further from the pattern of his toes pushing him in circles.

  “Are you okay, kid?” Reynolds asks, remembering that Stiles had hit his head pretty nicely on Derek’s earlier. He is starting to worry that this is a symptoms of severe head trauma. Stiles sustaining a head injury would be detrimental to the team.   
  
   Before Stiles can respond, a hand reaches past Reynolds and grips the chair into a halt. Stiles stops spinning abruptly. “Good god, did you take any Adderall today?” Derek asks, shaking his head and looking at Stiles in concern. Reynolds recognizes the name of the drug, but can’t think of what it’s used to treat.

  Stiles snorts, thrumming his fingers in a more upbeat rhythm now, tapping the tips of his shoes along with it. “I stopped taking it last year, silly,” Stiles says with a grin, poking Derek’s shoulder.   
  
   “Damn, I forgot about that. Then did you not drink of a cup of coffee or something, because you are driving me mad.” Derek takes both of Stiles’ hands in his own in an attempt to keep them still. Stiles squirms in the chair to expel his energy, so Derek lets go of his hands and pulls him up. “Jesus, go run a few laps,” he says, shoving the boy off. Stiles rolls his eyes, but gladly runs around the halls.

  “Is he okay?” Reynolds asks, allowing his face to pinch in a visual display of his concern for the boy.

  “He has ADHD, and clearly didn’t drink enough coffee for it to have a calming effect, so he is going a little haywire. He should be good after he runs around a bit and expels some energy,” Derek says, opening a desk drawer and tucking the file away inside the depths of the drawer. Reynolds realizes that the desk they have gathered around belongs to Derek, and watches him pull out a key ring and wallet, shoving both into a pocket and leaning on the desk. Stiles walks back into the large room, looking more calm but like he’d just been walking.

   “Did you just walk a lap?” Reynolds asks.

   Stiles shakes his head, “No, I ran nine laps.”

   Reynolds blinks at him in astonishment, “You may be an FBI agent, and in great shape, but how the hell do you look like you’ve been walking?”

   “I’ve lived with werewolves since I was six. Oh, and I kind of have to keep up with him,” Stiles says, motioning to Derek. He adds a wink in the end, causing Derek to playfully shove him.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, you dumbass,” Derek mutters in distaste, but Stiles picks up the hidden fondness tucked away deep in Derek's voice.

  Stiles shoves him in return, but licks his nose to even things out.

  “Jesus fuck, do I need to restrain you?” Derek's eyebrows raise in warning, staring menacingly at Stiles.   
   

  Stiles wiggles his own in return. “Hmm, that’s one way to make things more interesting.”

  Derek not-so-playfully shoves Stiles, sending him stumbling back a few feet. “I swear,” Derek shakes his head, laughing softly to himself. Stiles chuckles, rolling his eyes from his place roughly a yard from Derek. “I don’t think I missed your terrible innuendos and sexual jokes,” Derek mutters, shaking his head but smiling fondly.

  Most of the people in Derek's unit have already left the building, and those who remain are off on tasks elsewhere, save Price. So, Derek isn't really worried about all of this happening, or where it's happening.

  Stiles winks at Derek, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “You did, you know you did,” he smirks, stepping closer to the man. Stiles manages to make another sexual joke without scaring off Reynolds, and Derek playfully whacks his shoulder, shoving him again.

  “You're still a goddamn teenage boy, aren’t you?” Derek rolls his eyes, but still grins fondly at Stiles. He is very fond of Stiles. Price walks in about then, hearing that and Stiles' “Fuck yeah" in response. Derek isn't aware of his own captain's presence so he doesn't hesitate to thwack Stiles upside the head.

   “Hale,” Price's voice comes out strong and firm as Stiles rubs his head.

  “Jesus fucking christ,” Stiles mutters as he once again playfully shoves Derek, who is looking at Price in shock.

  “What the hell?” Price asks. Between the hands on his hips and the conflicted look, he looks pretty intimating.

   Stiles completely ignored the comment and falls back into the playful nature he and Derek have had for years (usually outside of work). In that spirit, he playfully whacks Derek back, fishes the keys from his pocket (Derek still doesn’t understand the boy’s talent for pickpocketing), and twirls them on his finger while dances around in place in wait for Derek.

  “Do you need to go run again? Because I’m not riding home with your hyper ass,” Derek says, forgetting who he is around again. He is pointing at Stiles in annoyance and the whole nine yards.

   “Sleep on your desk,” Stiles responds cooly, his lip slightly upturning in a smile chalked full of sass.

   “I missed how much of a sasshole you are,” Derek rolls his eyes, and turns to Price, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, about all of that, but I think it’s time I get him home."

  Price chuckles, nodding. “Go, go on. I understand, put a cup of coffee in him.” He motions towards the entrance.  
  “Let’s go,” Derek states, starting towards the door. Reynolds is slightly surprised when Stiles waits for Derek, instead of bolting toward the door. He watches Stiles take Derek’s hand when it's within reach, one of the first signs of true affection they’ve shown. Price and Reynolds both watch Derek’s shoulders visibly loosen as Stiles pulls him along.

 ~~

  Hayes jumps a little when there is a knock on the hotel room door, and hears Ty open it.

  He watches from across the room as Stilinski steps in, grabbing his suitcase wordlessly. He notices Derek leaning against the doorframe, all broody and eyebrows. He seems to be talking to Ty about the weather or some other non-important subject. Hayes has to admit, he’s a little surprised that he hasn’t seen a great deal physical affection from the pair, even after he found out that they were married. Their dynamic throws him off, especially when he heard that werewolves are even more tactile. than humans. He does notice that Derek seems to watch Stiles with a fond glint in his eyes, but also with something close to possessiveness? Is that what it is? A sense of possession?  Stiles smiles at Hayes, talking in almost non-sense as he scoops up his things, and he seems jittery.

  Hayes has never seen him like that, he’s worried.

   Derek watches Stiles’ hand shake as he tries to unzip his suitcase, and continue to loose his grip. He and Hayes watch the boy get frustrated, and Hayes watches Derek stride into the room, slip his hand onto the small of Stiles’ back, say, “Hey, its okay, I’ve got it,” and do it for him. Stiles sighs, putting his things back in the bag, and let’s Derek zip it.

  Stiles’ twitchy hand takes the suitcase and he smiles as they leave, saying something about seeing the pair in the morning. Hayes and Ty notice Stiles slipping his hand into Derek’s just before the door closes.

  ~~

  By the time they’ve gotten to their street, Derek has managed to get a coffee into Stiles and he’s calmly humming along to the radio and holding Derek’s free hand. Well, more like tracing the pads of his fingers over Derek's while trying to hold his hand.

  Stiles doesn’t recognize the other car in the driveway, knowing his own jeep is in the garage. He raises an eyebrow at Derek as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and pulls his suitcase along behind him. As soon as he steps in the front door, he toes off his converse out of instinct and rolls his suitcase off to his and Derek’s room, sliding it past the doorway and tossing his backpack onto the bed. He jogs out to the living room, where he can hear his brother and Amia. He’s guessing Derek is in the entry way putting their shoes away, and notices that he is correct as he passes. But, instead of Derek looking slightly annoyed or unimpressed with Stiles leaving his shoes haphazardly in the entryway, he has a fond smile. Stiles sees Amia dancing around with Scott, and grins.

  “Amia,” Stiles says softly, and she spins around on her heel, nearly falling in excitement. She squeals, and runs to him. He scoops her up before she can smack into his leg, and hugs her close to his chest.

  “Daddy,” she squeals. “I miss yew daddy,” she says, not yet to the point of clearly forming her words. Stiles finds it adorable that she still slurs and says things like “I sowwy”, “Sank you”, and “I wuv you, daddy” but Derek just worries that she isn’t growing at the rate she should.

  “I missed you too, baby,” Stiles says, stroking her wavy brown hair. Derek could’ve sworn her hair would be chocolatey brown ringlets when it got longer, because when she was littler and it was shorter, the soft curls and shade reminded him of when Stiles let his hair grow out and he didn’t put “a bunch of shit in it” as Derek says. When Stiles lets his hair grow out, it curls up. Stiles could’ve sworn that she’d have dark blonde and straight hair like Derek’s younger sister, but somehow Amia’s hair seemed to mimic Stiles. It’s the same deep brown, and even though it is longer, some strands fall into soft curls, and some strands just bend into waves. She stares back at him with her pretty whiskey eyes that are speckled with mossy green.

  She grins widely at Stiles, and rests her head on his shoulder. He slides her to his hip, and leans his own head on top of hers. Derek smiles fondly at the pair, and encircles both in a hug as Scott makes a loud ‘awwwwwe’ sound.

  Derek pecks both of their foreheads, both scrunching. He plops down on the couch beside Stiles, who tucks his feet up but wiggles his toes until they are under Derek’s leg, and cradles Amia’s little body close to him as he lean his head on Derek’s shoulder. He really missed this. Scott sits on the other, smaller couch and smiles at them.

  “I’m happy you're home, baby brother. I missed you,” He smiles, one of his signature dopey, tooth flashing grins.

 Stiles nods in return, pressing a kiss to Amia’s hair before saying, “I’m glad to be home. Oh, and who’s car is in the driveway?”


	7. Chapter 7.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is reunited with someone very close to him, and his coworkers find out about him permeant limp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short, very crappy filler chapter and I hope you keep sticking everything out. There is some big stuff coming down the pipes, so I hope you hang in here.

     Scott and Derek look mischievous in response to Stiles asking who owned the extra car he had seen in the driveway. Neither look like they are going to be much help in solving the mystery. 

    “Dude, come on, tell me. What aren’t you sharing?”

   Scott just shakes his head, letting a smirk take over his dopey grin. Stiles glances at Derek, who has his arms crossed and eyebrows pinched together in a suspicious manner. Stiles has absolutely zero idea what they could be up to, the both of them conspiring. 

   “I swear to god dude, if you are-“ 

   “Stiles?” A feminine voice asks, a head full of dark hair and perfectly centered soft hazel eyes poking into the room. Stiles carefully places Amia in Derek's lap, where he wraps his arms around the happy toddler, and Stiles bolts across the room. He is practically tackling the taller woman as soon as she has crossed the threshold into the room. “Well hello to you too,” she laughs, hugging Stiles right back. Her grip settles him a bit. Stiles can hear Derek and Scott chuckling at his immature excitement, and Amia is softly giggling along with them. 

   “I missed the hell out of you,” Stiles exclaims, squeezing his arms tighter around her slender frame. He is secretly glad that work is so rigorous and keeps him in shape, because he'd rather not be shown up by her and her overly defined abs. 

    “Yeah, I missed you too. Welcome home, now let go before I suffocate,” she says, detaching Stiles from around her waist and pushing him away. He playfully pouts with crossed arms and marches back to the couch, being very overdramatic. Amia reaches for him as he approaches.  He scoops her up before plopping down, the drop causing an eruption of giggles from Amia. 

  “Jeez, Laura,” Stiles playfully rolls his eyes, “So did you come with Scott or what?” He looks between the two expectantly, only subtly wiggling his left eyebrow. 

  Laura rolls her eyes, stepping closer to thwack him. “Your husband called. He had told me he was going to New York to do a few things for Hale Corp. and that Peter was there. He then told me that Scott was loosing his mind, since he’s been alone with the squirt for months, and he said that if I didn’t come spend time with them, that he’d pull his red eyes on me,” she explains, throwing a partially playful glare at her younger brother. 

  Stiles grins, kissing Derek. “That’s my man!” he exclaims proudly, earning an amused giggle from Amia as he wiggles his hips happily. Laura and Scott roll their eyes in response. 

  They sit in the living room catching up for a while, until Laura breaks it p. She heads off to the guest room, well one of the many, saying something about having to be well rested to play with Amia all day while Derek and Stiles go to work. Scott and Derek walk off while deeply immersed in conversation about something about wolves. He was paying no attention to their conversation since he’d been listening to his daughter go on a toddler tirade about all the days he’s missed and how often “Unca pwayed and danced”. Amia loves to dance, especially to the music Stiles and Scott listen to. Stiles isn’t surprised that he’d happily dance around the living room and kitchen with her. He loves his niece, and he loves dancing. Stiles can picture Scott blasting Blink-182 and dancing around the kitchen with Amia on his tail. 

  Stiles ends up putting in Lilo and Stitch, Amia’s favorite movie. He loves the movie as well, but his favorite part is listening to the toddler trying to say “Stitch” and babble on through the movie. She's seen it hundreds of times, but is still surprised at the end every time. She recognizes when Stitch is about to be adopted, and gets all excited, but she doesn't even remember the ending. It's so intriguing and precious to Stiles that he could probably watch it happen 8 million times. (He has over half of the dialogue memorized by now and could quote it if someone were to ask.) 

   Derek isn’t surprised when he pads out to the kitchen around two to get a glass of water and finds Stiles sprawled out on the couch, a blanket half draped over him and Amia curled up on his chest under a secure arm. He grins at his little family, and kisses both of their heads on his way back to his warm, comfortable bed. He knows Stiles could use all the time with the toddler possible, so he lets them snuggle and sleep on instead of waking Stiles and having them go to their respective beds. He also doesn't want to risk Amia waking up and crying her lungs out for hours. She may not be a baby anymore, but she's still a toddler and Derek doesn't put that past her just yet.

  ~~ 

 “I think that stupid song may be stuck in my head for the rest of my life,” Stiles groans as Derek raises an eyebrow at him and pauses in the middle of room, which is full of their coworkers. “I swear, it’s never going to leave. Ever. It’s just going to bounce around my skull for the rest of eternity, and I’m going to have that annoying voice wailing that idiotic song into my head forever.” 

   “Stop being so dramatic. You’ll listen to one song by the Red Hot Chili Peppers and be fine,” Derek rolls his eyes, setting his gun on his desk. He shakes his head at his dramatic husband, shuffling files and pulling some from his desk drawers as Stiles finally makes his way over to the desk.

   “While RHCP is glorious, that isn’t how it works. And it’d probably listen to Muse before RHCP,” Stiles shrugs, shifting his weight as he readies to walk away, not noticing the way both captains and their partners are watching. He mindlessly shifts again, being extra ginger with his one leg and quickly putting his weight back on the other. He squirms a smidge out of discomfort. 

   “What the hell happened to your leg, Stilinski?” Reynolds asks, voicing the question for them all, as they watch him continue to limp about. 

       “Nothing? Why?” He turns to face them with an eyebrow hiked up. 

    “You have a pretty obvious limp, even though you seem to be trying to hide it.” Ty points at Stiles leg, watching him once again shift his weight carefully. 

  Stiles snorts, “Probably the way I slept, it’ll go away in a while.” He continues walking as though its nothin, on an unknown mission. 

   Price turns to Derek as soon as Stiles is out of earshot. “What’d he do?” He asks, prodding Derek for a real answer. 

   Derek snorts to himself, “You mean besides sleeping on the couch all night?" He thumbs through a few files while speaking, eventually sticking them in a basket which he has deemed his 'done' basket. "Nothing. At least, nothing recently." 

   “Why the hell did he sleep on the couch?” Willow demands, her tone being used as a warning to Derek. She looks at him with narrowed eyes, hands on her hips. She thinks Derek and Stiles had fought, and is very angry with Derek about it.

  “What do you mean by 'recently'?” Reynolds asks on top of it, crossing his arms over his chest. 

    “He fell asleep watching a movie with Amia and was so exhausted that I didn’t want to wake him, or risk Amia crying for two hours." Derek has started adding finishing touches on a few sets of paperwork before adding them to his 'done' basket. “And his freshman year of high school, when he was 14, he busted his knee playing lacrosse. He’s had a limp ever since, but it looks normal because of his natural gait. He must’ve slept on it wrong. Like he said, it’ll go away soon.” He is paying no attention to the way the others are watching him, or how they are mulling over this new information. 

   “What happened to make him bust it?” Willow asks, her curious ways creeping in to make her ask questions she probably shouldn't.  

    Derek looks up from his current paperwork to meet her gaze. “You don't want to know.” 

  “But I do,” Willow insists, inching closer to him and sitting on the corner of his desk. “I want to know what he did to hurt his knee in the first place,” she reiterates. 

   “It’s a fucking gross story.” Stiles causes Willow to jump, not realizing that he had returned. She turns to look at him, and his unreadable expression in shock. 

   “What happened?” Hayes asks, having a special love for gross stories. Ty and Stiles don't understand why, but he's almost always up to listen to pretty gruesome stories. Stiles shakes his head, walking away with the excuse of needing to go to the bathroom.


	8. Chapter 8.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Price and Reynolds decide that their conglomerate team needed time to bond, and become closer to a whole, rather than two halves. To do that, they decide to take the teams to the beach, and thus ensues even more learning about Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I've had this written since I've had the beginning written, and I'd meant to put it all up at once. But, somehow time escaped me and it's been months since I'v put anything up. I'm so sorry. I hope you like some of this.

"Derek, please tell your partner to cool it, she won't leave me alone," Stiles says, walking up to where Derek is standing, talking to Price and Reynolds as the two Captains watch some of their men and women (the few of them) interact on the beach. Price and Reynolds both strongly believe in team bonding, and spending quality time together outside of work, so it wasn't very surprising when they announced that they'd be taking a group trip to the beach. "Why the hell didn't you tell me you had a fucking tattoo?" Willow asks, storming up, "You know how much I love tattoos, and have kept it from me all this time." "How the hell-" Derek starts, but Willow cuts him off. "Stiles, come on, help me out here. You can't just tell a woman about cool tattoos and then leave her hangin," Willow says, pleading. "This is what I was talking about, she won't shut up about it," Stiles says. Derek looks at Stiles pointedly. "What the hell, Stiles?” "I thought she already knew," Stiles says, putting his hands up in surrender. Derek sighs, and pulls his shirt off, revealing the black, with a blue undertone, triple spiral that sweeps between his shoulder blades. "Okay, I may not be well versed in the werewolf thing, but I know that you heal too quickly for tattoos so, how the hell?" Hayes asks, blinking at Derek in disbelief. "There are a few methods, but the most common requires a blow torch-" Derek starts, but is cut off by Ty. "You fucking burn it into your skin?" He asks, in shock. Stiles snorts, "oh god, Scott's tattoo was a joy. I had to help hold him down while Derek torched his arm, it was a sight." "Jesus fuck, I'm never helping him with that again," Derek mutters. "How does that work?" Hayes asks. "Dude, you don't even know the basics, tattoos would never make sense to you," Stiles says bluntly. Willow and Hayes go off a few feet, intrigued by something in the sand, and Stiles mentions the water. Ty looks at Willow, seeing Stiles and Derek slowly approaching the edge of where the water laps at the sand, and nods. They jet out to the water, and Willow splashes up next to Derek. It's not until she's right next to him that she notices the way he's gripping Stiles' hand. "You pansies, lets go deeper," Willow grins, walking further. She looks in confusion as Stiles takes both of Derek's hands, facing him as he wades backwards, looking like he's teaching Derek how to swim. "Common Der, it's not that bad," Stiles says softly, gently tugging him so that the water is passing his knees, beginning to lap at his thighs. Derek shakes his head, "nope, no, no, I’m good with right here." "Come on, I've got you. You trust me," Stiles responds, wading further so that the water is past his waistband, but only to Derek's upper thigh, since the man is taller than he is. Stiles lets go of Derek's arms and swims around him in circles with Willow, Ty, and Hayes. About 15 minutes later, Derek decides he’s had enough of the water after Willow sent a stream of water over his head. Stiles accompanies him, and once they’ve started to walk away, the others decide that all of the fun is gone and follow. Stiles is shaking out his wet hair when they notice it. They being Ty, Hayes, Willow, Reynolds, and Price. They notice his five tattoos, and that make makes them notice the gnarly scar on his leg. “Um, did you conveniently forget to mention your multitude of tattoos or?” Willow asks, coming up beside him. Ty gapes at him, looking like Stiles just right hooked him or something. “Okay, so we talk about epic tattoos all the time, and how much we love tattoos, but fail to mention your own? What the hell, Stilinski?” Stiles had honestly forgotten about his own tattoos, since he’d made such a point of keeping them a secret since he had gotten them. Only a handful of people know about them, and he liked it that way. He looks down at his chest, remembering about them and looks back up. “Oh, those, right,” Stiles says, trailing off. Derek clears his throat, noticing how the entire group wants to hear more about them. He points to the triple spiral on his upper bicep, just before his shoulder. “This one, its my pack symbol. He got it just after we got married, my dad was pissed that he got our pack symbol.” He then points to the three sets of Roman numerals near Stiles collar bone, but in a place that every shirt that he owns would cover. “The first one is Amia’s birthday, and the other two are for his mom.” Derek then points to the circle with a smaller circle inside of it. “And this is Scott’s pack symbol.” “Can you please explain to me what a pack symbol is, and why it’d be such a big deal if he got yours?” Hayes asks, genuinely interested. “A pack symbol is kind of like a family crest, or something like that, but at a bigger magnitude. Pack symbols, for those that have or use them, are a very big deal. Traditionally, a new member of the pack has to earn the privilege to have the symbol, or has to be the mate to an original member of the pack. In a family of born wolves, like Derek’s, you usually have to be a mate and then earn the privilege. Derek’s father was infuriated with me, because he believed that I broke tradition and the rules, and got it as a spur of the moment thing. It was quite the scandal for three months, until his dad realized we had gotten married and blah blah. I have Scott’s symbol because I’m technically an original member of his pack, and our packs kind of melded together when I married Derek,” Stiles explains. “Whoa whoa whoa,” Ty says, stepping forward, “back the fuck up. Why does your mom have two dates? “Stiles emotionlessly points at the first one and says, “birth,” and then points at the second and says, “death.” Ty blinks at him, “oh shit, dude, I’m- shit, fuck, I didn’t, jesus- I’m so sorry.” Stiles shakes his head, “Don’t be. I was little. It’s been a really, really long time. I came to peace with it years ago.” “Total curve ball, but is that gnarly mark from that lacrosse accident we heard about?” Hayes asks, motioning to Stiles’ leg. Stiles pulls up some of the leg of his swim trunk, “Yeah, the one on my knee is.” Willow blinks at him, “is that a fucking bite mark?” He turns his leg to show the bite mark on the side of his calf. “Yeah, this fucker thought it was funny to bite the shit out of me,” Stiles says, swatting Derek’s shoulder. “How the hell-“ Price asks, looking more shocked than any of them. Stiles shakes his head, “it wasn’t deep enough, and it was with his fucking human teeth because he’s an asshole.” Derek rolls his eyes, “yeah, yeah, whatever. Like it’s any different than you and Scott play fighting.” Stiles rolls his eyes back, throwing a glare at Derek, “it actually is, because my brother doesn’t fucking bite me. God damn.” Derek just shrugs, “you love me.” “That I do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to punch you on occasion,” Stiles replies, a fond look in his eyes. “Jesus you two fight like a mar….” Reynolds trails off after realizing what he is saying. Stiles gets a kick out of that, and Derek ends up covering the boy’s mouth with his hand to stop him. Stiles just licks it and wiggles his eyebrows at Derek suggestively. “Christ, sometimes I forget that you are still a damn teenage boy,” Derek mutters, playfully shoving Stiles. “Sometimes I forget that you are super fucking old,” Stiles shrugs, and playfully shoves him back. Willow can’t believe that Stiles actually moves Derek. Derek rolls his eyes, and the two end up play fighting in the sand. Willow looks shocked when Stiles manages to knock Derek off balance, since she’s tried and failed at doing the same, and takes him down to the sand. The group is watching in aw as Derek tries to squirm out from under where Stiles’ is pinning him in the sand, his knees pressed into Derek’s sides and hands holding Derek’s wrists. “I swear to god, if you try to fucking kiss me right now,” Derek mutters, looking at the smug look on Stiles’ face. “What? What are you going to do from there?” Stiles asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Willow can tell Stiles picked that trait up from Derek. Derek somehow gets his hands out of Stiles’ grip and ends up tickling him. Stiles laughing is am amusing sight, and so is the six foot, muscular and intimidating looking man leaning over him and tickling him. “Derek,” Stiles breaths, between fist of laughter, “oh god, stop.” Derek seems to tickle him harder until Stiles blurts, “jesus fuck, I’ll throw you in the ocean if you don’t fucking cut it out, or pee myself. You don't want to deal with either of those.” That seems to do the trick, and Derek hauls Stiles to his feet. “I love you,” he says right off the bat. “Yeah, Yeah, whatever,” Stiles says, shaking sand out of his wet hair, “You are fucking lucky you didn’t get sand all over my hat, you asshole.” “And you are lucky that throwing me in the ocean was just a threat,” Derek responds. “I could still do it, you know,” Stiles shrugs. Price’s phone rings, and he picks up. When he hangs up, he calls out for the unit to pack up, and that there was an emergency that they needed to tend to.


End file.
